Page 81 of Gift from the Stone

It’s fucking awful of me to admit that the main reason I’ve been able to change for her is because she’s been through something just as bad, well, even worse than I have. I never would’ve given some posh ass, stuck-up, never broken a nail, spoiled rich brat the time of day, not even for my brothers. But my Primary’s different. She knows misery just like me.

And I’ve come a long way. With her help and understanding, I’m leaps and bounds from the man I was when she stepped foot into this realm. If she had never claimed Tillman, planted the seed that she was our Primary, the man I was on the first day she arrived would’ve flipped her over, fucked the shit out of her, and left her there a withering mess, not even caring what her name was.

She never would’ve looked at me in the eye longer than two seconds or even had a real conversation with me because I wouldn’t have allowed it, and she sure as fuck would never have laid her hands on me.

One day, and one day soon, we’ll have to talk about my kidnapping. I know she’s seen me tortured, beat nearly to death, just to be healed back up and have it done all over again. She knows I was just a kid, barely fifteen, and she knows those scars run so much deeper than my skin.

She just doesn’t know; it was a girl, well, woman, who put me there. And I’ve let that betrayal, that hatred, fester and brew ever since.

Pushing myself out of my seat in the lounge, I shadow straight to my shower and turn the water to scalding, letting the burn distract my mind from thinking about that bitch who nearly destroyed me.

It’s not easy, though, once the memories sink their fangs in my veins.

My mind clouds over, just the way it always did when they forced the vials of highly potent intoxicators down my throat. The darkness takes hold, changing the water running down my skin to my blood.

Every stab, every slash, every cut from the enchanted dagger, slicing my body, leaving permanent scars, my daily reminders of the things that were done to fifteen-year-old me. Young, dumb, naïve fifteen-year-old me.

Her voice rings in my ears. A tone higher pitched than a hyena’s laugh, bounces around my mind, rattling every nerve and echoing down to the depths of my blackened soul.

Making the boy who still lives trapped there shrivel up in his corner, where I keep him locked away, protected. The mischief creating prankster, who laughed freely and smiled constantly, flinches away from the power-hungry hands that are reaching for him.

No, she can’t get to him again.

She’ll never touch him again.

Divert.

Bliss.

I’ve tried for many years to create a diversion spell that worked. Since the weeks following my return when Gaster and my uncle first taught it to me, I’ve tried countless times to create a diversion strong enough to outweigh the bad and it’s never worked, until now, until this moment.

Silver eyes brighter than any star in the sky penetrate the darkness, reaching in, gently caressing the teenage boy sitting there petrified, making him smile a devious little grin.

Wild, light brown hair, an absolute mess from a fitful night of sleep, paired with angry eyes, stare down my smirk as I tell her to get out of bed, no more sleeping. I hear my laugh echo as a pillow comes flying at me. Despite her being completely pissed at me, I was awestruck with her beauty. The raw, undone, just been awoken look is by far my favorite. It’s when she’s her most authentic self.

“She is not your demise. She is your salvation.”

Her moans of pleasure, begging for more, more, more before she falls apart.

“She grew you a whole tree just for a little shade.”

“I’ll meet you in the darkness, Cas.” Her raspy, two-day unused voice was music to my ears.

The touch of her soft lips against mine was like the first sip of water after living in the desert for days. The way her elements stroked mine as they flowed through her body rejuvenating her as she came back to me.

I cut the water off and hang my head, breathing through the emotional wringer my mind just went through. As the haze begins to clear, all I can do is thank my sweet Primary. She has no clue that once again, she’s saved me.

Piece by piece, she’s saving me.

I can’t deny it, and I need to stop fighting it.

Commanding my element to dry me off, I step into my spacious, bare room. The only comfort here are the books that line the walls. The bed isn’t even good enough to give me four to five hours of uninterrupted sleep, but I know where will, and if she’ll have me, then that’s where I’ll be.

Dressing quickly, I shadow to the corner of her room, the one I always watch her from and stop, grinning at what I’m witnessing.

“Draken, I’m not gonna tell you again, stop spooning me. I’m about to tie you to the end of the damn bed,” Tillman yells as Draken attempts again to reach over him.

“First off, that’s some freaky shit. The only one getting tied up is little wanderer. Maybe she can tie me up. I don’t know, we’ll see. Secondly, I can’t reach her over your massive fucking body without cuddling you,” Draken yells back, sitting up looking at Willow for back up.

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